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COFVRIGHT DEPOSrr 



UNDINE 



UNDINE 



A POEM 

ADAPTED IN PART FROM THE ROMANCE BY 
DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE 



BY 

ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON 



PHILADELPHIA 
H. W. FISHER & COMPANY 

MDCCCCXIV 



■T5 



Copyright, 19 1 4 
By a. De C. Patterson 



Published, September, 1914 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 



Of'. 



OCT I 19/4 

'CI,A380673 



TO 
I. De C. 



FOREWORD 

Since earliest childhood I have felt the 
charm of De La Motte Fouque's story of 
Undine ; but in later years, re-reading the 
tale, it seemed to me he had somewhat 
over-crowded the stage. And so I wrote 
this poem, narrowing the number of char- 
acters to the fewest possible, while realizing 
that all that was best in the verses was due 

primarily to M. Fouque. 

A. De C. p. 



UNDINE 



UNDINE 

A POEM ADAPTED IN PART FROM THE 
ROMANCE BY DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE 

The interior of a fisherman's cottage, one 
window looking on the sea, the other on 
the Enchanted Forest. 

THE fisherman's WIFE 

How wild the night is, Husband, and the 

waves 
Roll : mountain high! Dire news the 

mom will bring. 

THE FISHERMAN {resignedly) 

We fisher-folk inherit watery graves. 
Lives must end somehow: — pain and 

f^: suffering 
Come with our birth. But listen! 

There's a cry 
Like a young child's. 

The Fisherman opens the door and re- 
veals a little girl in tears. The tears 
change into happy laughter. 

[ II 1 



UNDINE 

I thought some one would come 
To let me in! It's cold out here, and I 
Am all alone, and strange. My hands 

are numb — 
I '11 warm them at your fire. I 'm hun- 
gry, too— 
I 'd like a little cake and cup of tea — 
That cup up there, of pretty green and 
bluel 

Undine points to a cupboard. Imme- 
diately the best cup and saucer is 
taken down. After Undine has 
supped she again addresses her hosts. 

And now make up a little bed for me; 
I 'm tired and sleepy in a funny way — 
Such as I think I never was before! 

THE fisherman's WIFE 

First tell us where you come from, child, 
I pray. 

UNDINE 

I know not: — only this, that to your door 
A great wave brought me. Ah, I like 
it here, 

1 12] 



And I am going to stay, and be your 
child I 

She throws herself lightly upon a hastily 
made cot, and in a moment is fast 
asleep. 

THE fisherman's WIFE {making the sign 
of the cross over her) 

No one has taught her how to pray, I 

fear. 
But when I made the blessed sign, she 

smiled. 



[13I 



The same cottage ten years later. Sir 
Huldbrand of Ringstettin, who has just 
ridden through the Enchanted Forest, 
begs of the Fisherman and his wife 
entertainment for the night. 

SIR HULDBRAND 

Kind Folks, I do beseech of you a bed 
Where I may sleep in peace, ere I return 
The way I came. At night such spectres 

dread 
Infest those woods, that every tree and 

fern 
Seems to vibrate with presences malign. 

THE FISHERMAN 

You're more than welcome to our poor 

abode: 
Be seated while we bring you bread and 

wine. 
Your coming serves to lift from us the 

load 
Of loneliness we sometimes feel, my wife 
And I, and our sole child, the little one 

[14] 



Who, years ago now, came into our life 
In strangest way; brought here indeed 

by none 
But the great sea itself I 

Suddenly, though the moon is shining, 
there is a dash of water against the 
window. The Fisherman continues, 
apologetically. 

Ahl that's Undine I— 
Full of wild tricks as ever, since the night 
She first came to us. All our care has 

been 
To tame this little wildling, but a sprite 
She seems, although with a most loving 

heart. 

He calls sternly at the window: 

Undine, Undine, can't thou for once be 
still! 

Beside our hearth a stranger sits. De- 
part, 

I beg of thee, — or come in, if thy will. 

There is another splash on the window, 
followed by a sound of silvery laughter. 
Then Undine appears. She does not 
see Huldbrand. Turning to her f)ster- 
father, she stamps her foot and cries: 

[i5l 



I knew that thou wert makiiig game of 
me. 

There's no one here! 

Sir Huldtrand, darJtd ty her young, 
fair beauty, comes forward. 

Ah, but this time I 'm wrong. 
I pray you, Sir, be seated. I shall be 
Quiet as one could wish. The hours 

seemed long 
To-day. but now they will ha\'e swiftest 
wings. 

She drazTS up a little cricket beside the 
knight. 

You must ha\e come through \'onder 

woods and dales, — 
I 'd like to hear of \'our strange happen- 
ings. 

THE FI5HE?-M\N*5 WIFE ^annoyed ut such 

boldness) 

The night is no fit time to hear such 
tales! 

UNDINE {spriniini to her feet) 
Nay, but it is my will the tales to hear! 

[i6] 



THE FISHEE^AN'S WIFE 

Undine, thou art a most unruly child! 
Go to thy room, and do not thou appear 
Again 'til thou hast curbed thy temper 
wild. 

Undine opens the door and darts into the 
night. The sound of a mighty wind 
rises, followed by the roar of waters. 
The moon goes out like a candle. The 
Fisherman quickly lights a lantern, 
but Huldbrand takes it from him. 

HULDBRAND 

My friend, this tempest needeth younger 

blood 
To cope with it in all its rising strength. 
Mark how the sea hath risen, for the flood 
Is even at your doorway I 

He starts to ford the torrent. 

Now at length 
I know what love means, for I know 

despair I 
Death may already have her in its hold. 
That child! I thought above the waters 

there 
I caught a glimpse of tresses spun of gold. 

[17] 



HiiUtrand reaches a small island 
sheltered ty thick trees from the storm. 
He hears a ripple of laughter, and, to 
his amazement, finds Undine. The 
moon appears again . 

UNDINE {ziinding her arms about the 
knighfs neck) 

Here will I listen to thee; — far away 
From noise of scolding tongues, and 

angr\' e\'es 
That do reprove me all the night and da\-I 
Here will I kiss thee, 'til the moonlight 

dies. 
For the first time I know what kisses are! 
Winged things — flame-tipped — and with 

the strength to bear 
The spirit upward to that farthest star; — 
And then beyond — to — ah, I know not 

where! 

HULDBRAN'D {after returning her tender 

caresses) 

Meanwhile, dear Child, two other hearts 

must ache 
With fear lest any harm has come to 

thee. 

[i8] 



UNDINE 

I care not in the least if they should 

break I 
Yet somehow just thy wish seems law 

for me. 
I will go home, if thou wilt but remain 
Beside me. See, already dawn is here. 
Thy tales they 'II hear now without fear 

of bane. 
Ah, the great joy of feeling thee so near! 

The foster-parents, relieved at Undine's 
safe return, make no further objection 
when she again demands from Huld- 
brand a recital of his recent expe- 
riences. 

HULDBRAND 

Mine was a restless spirit, so I went 
To the Imperial City first, to seek 
Adventure. And I found it there and 

spent 
Most freely of my substance! Many a 

week 
Two bright black eyes helped hold me, 

eyes like flame, 
Which burned for me alone, so gossip 

said, 

[19] 



Praising the while that most fair lady's 

name. 
At her request through these wild woods 

I sped, 
Which in my mem'ry ever will be fraught 
With horror of strange sound and stranger 

sight; 
Of rushing water, while a creature caught 
And held me in its arms so cold and white, 
Until my very heart seemed to congeal. 
I thought at last death had me in its thrall, 
My head swam and I could no longer feel ; 
When lol— the thing proved but a water- 
fall 1 
I had the promise, if I safe returned, 
My fair one would reward me with her 
glove. 

Huldbrand is suddenly conscious of a 
sharp pain in the hand next to Un- 
dine. He finds she has bitten it al- 
most to the bone. He continues, 
quickly but quietly. 

But yet my heart before I went had 

spurned 
All thoughts of her proud beauty and her 

love — 
I only wished my courage bold to prove. 

I 20] 



Huldbrand looks steadily at Undine, 
who returns his ga^e, and then without 
a word goes to her room. 

Huldbrand falls asleep, to dream con- 
tinuously of the beautiful girl. But 
curious questionings mingle with his 
dreams. 

HULDBRAND 

Her eyes with changefu lights and shad- 
ows gleam; 

Like rippling water is her laughter clear; 

But though she doth illumine every 
dream, 

My heart is burdened with the strangest 
fear. 

Is she a water-sprite or human child — 

More light she is, more lovely than a fay — 

If I should wed her, would she prove a 
mild 

And loving wife — or turn to foamy spray? 

In spite of these suspicions, the knight 
lingers at the cottage, and finally, when 
a priest comes to visit the fisher-folk, he 
persuades them to let him make Undine 
his wife. Just before the ceremony 
Undine seems particularly elfish. 
[21] 



UNDINE 

A brave new game is this they're teach- 
ing me — 
I think I '11 like it! It will be more fun 
Than chasing wavelets back into the sea, 
Or blowing rainbow bubbles in the sun. 
A brave new game, where I am called the 

bride. 
She must be always pretty, with gold hair 
As bright as mine is, coral-lipped, blue- 
eyed, 
And with a heart that knoweth naught 
of care! 



[22] 



The next morning reveals an Undine so 
gentle and considerate that her foster- 
parents and even her husband regard 
her almost with awe. Before leaving 
for the knighfs home they revisit the 
island which sheltered them the time 
of the storm. 

UNDINE 

When I come here the strangest memories 
Flutter like white-winged moths, now 

here, now there: 
Only on one I seem at times to seize 
That tells me I was born, not of the air 
Nor of the earth, but of the wave;— 

a sprite 

Who cared for me wished I might have a 
soul, 

Which could not come unless I should 

unite 
My being with a mortal's. You control 
Me now. You gave me soul as well as 

name. 
But with it must earth's sorrow also go? 
I know not. Only I 'm no more the same 

[23] 



Light-hearted child, once free as winds 
that blow, 

Glad as the fish that dart like tiny fires 

Through lake and river, loving just their 
life, 

So free of care and these new strange de- 
sires — 

So ignorant of human pain and strife. 

Will the moon some day seem all white 
with pain — 

The streams that I have loved made up 
of tears? 

Beloved, take me to your heart again, 

And stop with kisses all these haunting 
fears I 

HULDBRAND (caressing his young wife 
tenderly, though shivering somewhat, 
as a huge wave, which advances 
threateningly toward the island, at a 
gesture from undine, recedes) 

May all the powers of heaven, earth and 

sea 
Shield and protect thee, little bride of 

mine! 
Most guilty of mankind regarding me 
Should I prove faithless to this trust of 

thine. 

[24] 



Rest here, Undine, in happy confidence; 

Here on my breast no terrors can af- 
fright,— 

The very love of thee must drive them 
hence. 

E'en as the day dispels the shades of 
night. 



[25] 



// is two years later. Sir Huldbrand still 
loves his ^ood and beautiful wife, but the 
charms of the lady for whom he had once 
dared the Enchanted Forest have also 
taken hold of his impressionable nature. 

UNDINE {addressing her husband before the 
three set out for a row on the lake) 

This morning I have had thy men seal 
tight 

The fountain in the courtyard, for I fear 

Malicious tricks from the great Water- 
Sprite 

Whose home within the lake is far too 
near. 

And, Huldbrand, I must warn thee yet 
again — 

Thou dost forget now to be always kind — 

Refrain from any harsh words to me 
when 

Upon the water. O keep this in mind! 

The lady joins them. Undine sits 
silent in one end of the boat while the 
other two converse in low tones. After 
[26] 



a while the lady unfastens a necklace 
given her by Sir Huldbrand. She 
regards it dreamily as it drags along 
the waves. 

THE LADY 

The waters lap it 'round caressingly, 
As though they thought it were a living 

thing; 
Indeed it seemeth all alive to me, 
Amid the waves there, flashing, quiv- 
ering. 
Each golden link in form is like a star, 
Sparkling with many gems of brightest 

ray,— 
Ah, how I love the jewel, never far 
Is it from me, I wear it night and day! 

A great hand, from which hang strands 
of seaweed, rises from the waves and, 
seizing the necklace, disappears with 
it. Its owner bursts into frightened 
tears. 

UNDINE (with quick solicitude) 

Poor child 1 Perhaps, though, I can 

comfort thee 
And still thy grief, by offering instead 

[27] 



The fairest gems afforded by the sea; — 
For pearls I 'II send, and coral rosy red. 

Undine dips her hand into the water and 
in a few moments, with a smile of in- 
effable sweetness, extends to her rival a 
necklace far more exquisite. But Sir 
Huldbrand snatches it from her. 

HULDBRAND 

Must I be always troubled in this way, 
Not knowing what strange thing will 

happen next? 
Peace is an unknown word now: — since 

the day 
I met thee has my soul been sorely vexed I 
Have done with all these heathen ways of 

thine — 
From thee and all thy brood I would be 

free I 
This necklace with its witch-like shade 

and shine 
I hurl with curses back into the seal 

Undine, turning white as the foam it- 
self, slips quietly over the side of the 
boat. After vain attempts to find her, 
her former companions seek the shore. 

[28 1 



A voice seems to follow them. It is 
like Undine's, hut strangely muffled. 
Again and again it repeats the same 
prayer. 

THE VOICE 

Beloved, fare thee well, but O be true 
To poor Undine! She fain would ever 

keep 
Thee safe from evil they will plan to do — 
The water-spirits — who know naught 

of sleep 
When one they love endures a grievous 

wrong 1 
Be true to her, Undine, who is not dead: 
Elsewise her power cannot shield thee 

long 
And thy brief days must end in pain and 

dread. 
Be faithful to her, as thy living wife, 
For thine own sake, nor for a moment 

dwell 
On thoughts of a new bride to cheer thy 

life: 
Beloved, O Beloved, fare thee well I 

And then, fainter still, as though it were 
but an echo, come the words: 
[29] 



The fountain in the courtyard keep tight 

sealed. 
If ever the great stone be rolled away 
The strength of things unseen will be 

revealed, 
To crown with swiftest doom that fatal 

day. 



[30] 



For many months Sir Huldbrand in 
anguish of spirit mourns his wife. Often 
he is consoled in dreams, but finally when 
he becomes betrothed to the companion of 
his misfortune the dreams cease. He 
continues, however, the mournfulest of 
lovers, even to the time of the wedding. 

THE LADY (on the night of their marriage) 

I must shake free of some strange influ- 
ence 

Which seems to compass us in baleful 
way. 

Perchance my scorn of it might drive it 
thence; — 

T is worth the trying, come what evil 
may! 

(To one of her maidens) 

Go, have the courtyard fountain swift 
unsealed: 

Its waters I am told have magic power; 

The face they lave but once will be re- 
vealed 

As fragrant and as lovely as a flower. 

[31] 



The fountain, at the bride's request, is 
unsealed. The bridegroom, in no 
hurry to part with his gloomy thoughts, 
is standing by a window in his own 
room thinking of his first marriage. 
There is a tap on his door. 

HULDBRAND (too full of fear to look around) 

Thus was she wont to do, so long ago, 

With lightest touch. Ah, may the heav- 
ens forgive 

My many sinsl They seem to burn and 
glow, 

Tormenting every moment that I live! 

UNDINE {entering) 

No longer can I save thee, for the spring 
Is opened — I am here, and thou must die. 

HULDBRAND 

A terror grips me I I fear not the thing 
Called death — I welcome it most 

eagerly- 
Only the thought that some dread form at 

last 
Will, with its horrid features drive me 

mad, 

[32] 



In just revenge for my neglectful past 
Of her who once made life so blessed and 
glad. 

UNDINE 

Nay, Huldbrand, have no fear, for it is 

she. 
Undine. Alas I thy life she cannot save, 
But she can take it. Thus will the 

decree 
Of the great Water-Spirit seem less grave 
And dread. Look in her face again — 
Tis she. Undine I 

She throws her arms about her husband's 
neck, who lifts the white veil which 
enshrouds her that he may the better 
kiss her lips. 

HULDBRAND {in an ecstasy) 

I die in thy embrace. 
Thy tears absolve me— I know naught of 

pain — 
I only know the beauty of thy face. 

Undine, weeping steadily, folds the 
knight closely, ever more closely, in her 
arms. Then she lays him on a couch. 
[33] 



UNDINE 

Thy smile is lovely, as upon that night 

I called thee mine I — Ah, mine once more 
thou art! 

Nothing can come between us to affright 

Thy soul again, nor wound a faithful 
heart. 

Thou art at peace from griefs that over- 
whelm, 

At sweetest peace from all the haunting 
fears — 

Those flowers dark that blossom in love's 
realm — 

Beloved, I have drowned thee with my 
tears! 

Undine glides softly from the room. . . , 
At the funeral a white figure is seen, 
only for a moment, kneeling at the 
grave. Where she had knelt, a little 
spring gushes forth, which, after al- 
most encircling the mound, finally loses 
itself in the lake. 



[34] 



^ 



Printed for H. IV. Fisher and Company 
by The University Press of Cambridge, 
Massachusetts, in September, 191 4 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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